Impact
by kyokutonomajo
Summary: "Look into their eyes and you'll see what they know: everybody dies." Joanne/Larry, Joanne/Bobby.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Impact  
**Fandom:** Company  
**Rating:** High T to low M for character death, injuries, _SERIOUS_ angst, self-destructive behaviour, and some sex (nothing too explicit) in later chapters  
**Pairing(s):** Joanne/Larry, Joanne/Bobby  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Company or any of the characters therein.  
**Notes: **This fic came to me during a bout of insomnia. The first six chapters or so were written when I'd been awake for over 40 hours straight, so I apologize for any inconsistencies or mistakes. The version of Company I'm going off of – the characterization I'm basing this on and the cast that I see in my head – is the 2011 New York Philharmonic concert version with Neil Patrick Harris and Patti LuPone. I'd also like to say a couple things:

1) I feel very bad when I kill off a character in a fanfic, even an original character, but in this case it's kind of the point of the fic, so it was necessary. It makes for an interesting story, I hope. It was certainly interesting to write.

2) My medical knowledge has almost entirely been gleaned from Wikipedia and episodes of _House M.D._, so I'm pretty sure there are lots of wild inaccuracies, but I did the best I could with what I have.

I would also like to say that I spent several hours trying to figure out what Joanne and Larry's last name should be. It's remarkable how many things somehow don't work.

* * *

Bobby stood outside the bar, glancing down at his watch every minute or so. Half an hour. Half an hour since Joanne and Larry were supposed to meet him there. They were never late. He'd tried calling them twice already, but no one had answered the phone either time. He was starting to feel a little uneasy. He paced up and down the sidewalk, not sure what to do.

A couple minutes later, he hailed a cab and gave the driver Joanne and Larry's address. The feeling of uneasiness had formed a knot in his stomach, and he couldn't stand waiting any longer. He had to find out what the hell was going on.

A couple blocks from their townhouse, he caught sight of flashing blue and red lights. He felt the knot of uneasiness in his stomach tighten. Without thinking he yelled for the cabbie to stop and got out. He squinted into the night. It looked like there had been some sort of accident. There were police cars, an ambulance pulling away from the scene with its sirens blaring, two twisted and shattered hunks of metal that had once been cars, and a crowd of onlookers, whispering and chattering amongst themselves. Bobby found his feet carrying him towards the catastrophe, a sense of horror settling over him. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd, and felt a cold panic grip his chest.

One of the cars was Larry's.


	2. Chapter 2

Bobby wheeled around and grabbed the person nearest to him.

"What happened?" he demanded.

The person he'd grabbed, a petite blonde woman, looked startled and more than a little scared. His demanding tone and the wild look in his eyes probably didn't help, but he couldn't think about anything except finding out what had happened to his friends.

"There was an accident. They're saying one of the drivers may have been drunk."

Bobby turned at looked at the wreckage again, trying to take in the situation. A white van had crashed into the driver's side of Larry's car, bending it until it was almost horseshoe-shaped. He let go of the woman's arm and she scurried away from him, but he didn't notice. He found himself moving slowly towards the mangled vehicles, his eyes fixed on Larry's car. The passenger window was cracked and coated with blood. Larry would have been driving. The blood was Joanne's. He suddenly felt sick and a little dizzy.

"Hey!" A policeman came rushing towards him. "What are you doing? Stay back, please!"

He turned mechanically towards the policeman. "Where are they? Are they alright?"

"What?"

"Larry and Joanne! Where are they? What happened to them? Are they alright?" He sucked in a steadying breath. "Did they…"

He couldn't finish the sentence. The officer's expression softened a little. "As far as I know, everyone survived the accident. They're on the way to the hospital already."

Bobby took a moment to let the information to sink in as he stared at the wreckage. Joanne and Larry were alive…for now. He turned back to the policeman.

"Which hospital?"

* * *

Bobby glanced at the clock on the waiting room wall before he resumed pacing. It had been hours already. Was it supposed to take this long? All the staff had told him was that Joanne and Larry had both survived the trip to the hospital and had gone straight into surgery; they didn't know how long it would take, how long it would be before he could see them, or what their odds were.

He finally collapsed into one of the chairs, burying his face in his hands. It was bad. It must be, to take this long. And…he'd seen the scene of the accident. He'd seen the state of the car they'd been in. He'd seen the blood. _Joanne's blood_. They both would have been injured. Bleeding. He closed his eyes, trying to block that image from his mind. What would he do if…No, he wouldn't think about that. _Couldn't_ think about it.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps. A nurse was walking towards him, her expression determinedly neutral. He stood up, fear clutching at his heart.

"Well?"

"Mrs. Wittman is out of surgery, but she's still in critical condition."

"What about Larry?"

"Mr. Wittman's injuries were more extensive. He's still in surgery."

Bobby let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He paused, letting the information sink in. Both of his friends were still alive, but the news wasn't nearly as concrete as he'd been hoping, for either of them.

"Can I see Joanne?"

The nurse nodded and led him into the ICU. She pulled back the curtain and his heart nearly stopped when he saw Joanne lying unconscious in the bed. She was hooked up to a ventilator, and there were several other machines monitoring her condition. One arm was in a cast. There were bandages on her other arm, her chest, her shoulder, even on her neck and face. She looked so small, delicate even. He'd never noticed how small she was before.

He turned to the nurse numbly. "How long will it be before she wakes up?"

The nurse looked at him, her eyes showing a hint of sadness behind her professional expression. "When she wakes up – if she wakes up – is up to her now."

Bobby reached out a shaking hand to touch Joanne's face as the nurse politely left him alone. There were several small scratches on her face and a patch of gauze on her temple. She must have struck her head on the window. The blood he'd seen…

He suddenly couldn't bear to look at her broken form anymore. He picked up her chart. Between the doctor's scrawl and his own lack of expertise he didn't expect to be able to tell much, but he studied it nonetheless, trying to get a sense of how severe her injuries were.

_Whiplash…lacerations…fractured radius and ulna…broken ribs…collapsed lung…internal hemorrhage…skull fracture…traumatic brain injury…_

He put the chart down and looked back at Joanne's still form, fear making him feel sick to his stomach. He sat down on the edge of the bed, taking one of her hands in his. He bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Come on, Joanne. You're strong. You'll be alright. Please…"

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading. If you're enjoying the story, please review. The more reviews I get, the faster I will feel obliged to update!


	3. Chapter 3

_"Come on, Joanne. You're strong. You'll be alright. Please…"_

The first thing that Joanne became conscious of was slow, steady beeping. She gradually became aware of a familiar voice and the feeling of someone holding her hand.

"I don't know if you can hear me, Joanne, but please, wake up."

_Robby? _

"Don't give up…" Robby's voice cracked slightly, as though he was fighting back tears, and he fell silent.

_What was he talking about?_

Joanne slowly opened her eyes. It took a while for her vision to come into focus. She was in an unfamiliar white room – a hospital room. The beeping was from the machine monitoring her condition. She looked to her right and saw Robby sitting in a chair beside her bed, one hand holding hers, the other covering his face. His shoulders were shaking slightly. Was he crying?

"…Robby?" Her voice was weak and hoarse. How long had she been out for?

Robby's head flew up at the sound of her voice, tears still glinting in his eyes. Shock was written all over his face, but it was quickly replaced with relief.

"Joanne," he breathed, smiling despite the tears in his eyes, "You're awake."

He moved to sit on the edge of her bed and bent down to press a kiss to her forehead. Her eyes moved around the unfamiliar room.

"…How long?"

"Nine days," he said quietly, "You've been unconscious for nine days." He stared at her for a moment, the look in his eyes cautious and guarded. "Joanne, do you remember what happened?"

She thought back, straining to remember the last thing before she'd awoken. It was difficult, her brain still felt incredibly foggy. She remembered getting ready to go out. That was right, she and Larry were going to meet Robby. They were in the car, weren't they? And then…

_The honk of a car horn. The screech of brakes. The scrape of metal on metal. Sharp pain all over her body that stole the air from her lungs. A loud crack as her head struck the window. The impact made white light flash before her eyes, then everything went dark. _

Her eyes widened, and she looked at Robby's face. He was watching her gravely, cautiously.

"We were hit, weren't we?" She tried to sit up, but Robby placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, stopping her from moving.

"Yes," he said quietly. He looked down at his lap, and she realized that there was something he wasn't saying.

"Robby…where's Larry?"

Robby looked up at her, grief clearly written in his features, but her mind still wasn't clear enough to be able to put the pieces together.

"Joanne, I'm so sorry."

* * *

Bobby hadn't wanted to be the one to tell her about Larry, but he couldn't let her find out from the doctors. He watched shock spread across her features, and he felt his heart ache for her. He expected her to cry, to break down, maybe even to yell at him not to lie to her, but she did none of those things. Instead, she just turned away from him, clearly trying to absorb what he had said.

He watched her carefully, unsure of what to do. He gave her a few minutes to process the shock before he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Joanne? I…" What were you supposed to say in this situation? "I'm so sorry, Joanne. If there's anything I can do…"

"Go." She said it without looking at him.

He hesitated, not sure whether it was wise to leave her alone in her state of shock. She finally turned to look at him.

"Go. I want to be alone."

He gave her hand one last squeeze before he stood up. "I'll come back to see you tomorrow, okay?"

She nodded without seeming to hear him. He bent and kissed her gently on the cheek before he left, his heart heavy.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Bobby went straight to the hospital after work, stopping only to get some flowers for Joanne – purple orchids, they were her favourite. When he poked his head into her room, she was awake and sitting up in bed. She smiled weakly at him when she saw him.

"Hi, Robby."

He put the flowers on her nightstand and pressed a kiss to her forehead before sitting on the edge of her bed. She smiled at him, doing her best to seem normal, but he could see that her eyes were red. She'd been crying. His felt a pang in his heart. He took her hand, uncertain of what to say.

"How are you today?" he finally asked.

"Alive, I suppose." She was still trying to smile, trying to pretend she was alright.

He looked at her sadly before pulling her into a hug as gently as he could; he didn't want to aggravate any of her injuries. She leaned her head against his shoulder. They stayed like that for what felt like many minutes before Bobby let go of her.

"Have they told you how much longer you'll be in the hospital?" he asked, intertwining his hand with hers.

"They need to keep me for observation for a while longer, something about the head injury," she said, running her fingers over the bandage on her temple.

He nodded. "What about after? When you go home?"

She sighed. "I haven't even had a chance to think about what'll happen once I'm out of the hospital. I suppose arrangements will have to be made. And then…for Larry…"

Her voice became choked and she quickly turned her face away from him, trying to hide the tears in her eyes. Bobby felt his heart ache for her again and he pulled her back into his arms. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer. He felt her shoulders shaking ever so slightly, but when she finally pulled away from him her eyes were dry. She turned away from him again, not meeting his eyes, seeming almost embarrassed by her show of emotion.

"Joanne, do you have anyone who can stay with you after you're released?" he asked, hoping to redirect the subject back to something she could cope with. "I mean, just in case you need help, since, well…" he trailed off, running his fingers over the cast on her arm.

She leaned back against her pillow, closing her eyes and sighing. "I hadn't even thought of that at all."

"I could…I mean, if you wanted, if you don't mind…I'd be happy to stay with you. Just for a couple days, you know?"

Her eyes snapped open. She seemed surprised by his offer, but she smiled up at him. "I'd like that, Robby."

* * *

A week later Bobby was sitting beside Joanne in the back of a cab as they returned to the home she had shared with Larry. She'd been released from the hospital with a bottle of painkillers, some bandages, and a list of things she should and shouldn't do, although Bobby hadn't seen that last item. He had the sneaking suspicion she'd chucked it in the garbage the second she was out of the building. Joanne seemed happy to be out of the hospital – she'd lit a cigarette as soon as they were outside and hadn't stopped smoking since – but he was a little worried about how she'd cope with constant reminders of Larry all around her.

When the cab pulled up in front of the townhouse, Joanne paused, staring up at the building. Bobby watched her cautiously. She didn't say anything and her expression didn't change, but the slight quickening of her breathing told him what he needed to know.

"Joanne?"

She jumped a little, before turning and flashing him a not entirely convincing smile. She got out of the cab and he followed her. He retrieved his overnight bag from the trunk of the cab as she walked up the steps and unlocked the front door.

Joanne collapsed onto the sofa as soon as they were inside.

"It's good to be home," she said, without conviction. Bobby glanced at her as he put his overnight bag down by the front door. She was sprawled across the sofa, one arm draped across her eyes. He knelt down beside her.

"Joanne? Do you need anything?"

She lifted her arm from her face and gave him an odd slanting look. "You're not my nursemaid, kiddo. You don't need to hover over me and wait on me every second."

"It's only until you're healed, so you should enjoy it while you can," he said teasingly, trying to lighten the mood a little.

She smiled weakly at him and sat up. "Right now, I just want to get some sleep in my own bed. Tomorrow there will be…things to deal with."

She got that distant look again, the one that appeared whenever she was thinking about Larry.

"Joanne?" he asked hesitantly.

"I'm fine, Robby!" she snapped, startling him. She sighed, seeming suddenly tired. "You can stop worrying about me, kiddo."

He watched her disappear into her bedroom, feeling more worried about her than ever. He spent a few moments staring after her, concerned, before he turned and surveyed the place. He'd never spent a great deal of time in Joanne and Larry's home, and he'd never really studied it before. It was clean and sleek and modern, decorated all in black, white and silver. At the same time, there was something comfortable about it. It felt like a home. There were some little things – a tie on the back of a chair, an open magazine, a newspaper – that were probably just as they had been the night of the accident. Bobby tidied those things away – Joanne didn't need those reminders around her right now.

After he was finished that, Bobby explored the place a little, finding his way around and getting accustomed to the place. He put his things in the guest bedroom, but he set himself up on the couch so that he would be able to hear if Joanne got up during the night. He had the feeling that her stubbornness would keep her from waking him to ask for his help.

Sure enough, he awoke around midnight to the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. He got up and went to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway. Joanne didn't see him; she was in the process of clearing out the fridge. He watched her for a moment. She was dressed only in a nightgown and robe, allowing him to see the bruises and bandages on her chest and her legs. His heart ached a little when he saw the delicate way she was moving, the way she was favoring one leg. She was clearly in pain.

"Joanne?"

She looked up, startled. He saw her eyes linger on his bare chest for a moment before she returned to diligently rooting through the fridge.

"Sorry, Robby, I didn't mean to wake you."

He rushed over to her and caught her wrists, gently stopping her movements.

"Joanne, you shouldn't be up and about. If you need something, you should have woken me. It's what I'm here for."

She looked up at him, a hint of exasperation in her eyes. "Really, kiddo. I'm not an invalid. You don't need to wait on me hand and foot."

He didn't answer, but he couldn't help glancing down at the bruises and bandages visible on her chest. He put his arm around her and gently guided her out to the living room and sat her on the sofa, feeling grateful when she didn't try to fight him.

Bobby wasn't the best cook in the world, but he managed to put together some food for the two of them. When he brought the food out he was relieved to find that she was still sitting on the sofa where he'd left her. He gave her one plate before sitting down beside her.

They ate in silence. Bobby found himself watching Joanne, trying to figure out what was going on in her head, what she was feeling. Even though she kept saying that she was fine, he still worried about her. After all the years they'd known each other, he knew that she was too proud and too stubborn to admit when she needed help. And she did need help. She was injured and in pain, and he knew that she must be going through hell, whether she showed it or not.

Joanne finished eating and turned to look at him. "Stop staring, Robby. You're making me nervous."

He started a little and stuttered out an apology, and for a moment he saw a trace of amusement in her eyes. She stood up to take her plate away. He jumped to his feet automatically, and she looked at him, eyebrows raised.

"Robby, I'm not made of glass. You don't need to do everything for me."

She carried her plate into the kitchen. He trailed after her, watching her. She seemed to be limping less. He couldn't help but wonder whether it was because she was in less pain or if it was just because she knew he was watching her. He stopped in the doorway and watched as she put her plate in the sink and picked up the bottle of painkillers from the counter. She finally turned to look at him. She seemed to be able to tell what he was thinking.

"I'm fine, Robby, and I'm going back to bed now," she said firmly before she brushed past him, heading back to her bedroom. Bobby remained standing there in the doorway. He heard her shut her bedroom door behind her, and he sighed. She was a good actress, but he knew her. He knew that she wasn't fine.

* * *

**A/N: **I feel compelled at this point to state that smoking after having a collapsed lung is apparently a really terrible idea. Anyways, thanks again for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

Larry's funeral wasn't an extravagant affair, given his wealth, but Bobby thought it was what he would have wanted. Joanne had taken care of all the arrangements herself. She had firmly refused Bobby's help, had even refused his offer to stay with her for more than a few days, but even after he returned to his own apartment he still tried to do as much as he could for her. He'd spent a good portion of every day with her. He'd wanted to keep Joanne from having to take care of the funeral arrangements herself, but she hadn't let him. She'd taken care of everything. She'd handled it all coolly and efficiently. The complete control she showed over her emotions through the whole process worried him more than anything.

Joanne sat at the front of the congregation, head held high. She didn't cry, but Bobby could see the strain. She had that same look as when he'd first told her – she wasn't seeing or hearing anything around her. He knew it was only now sinking in for her that her husband was dead. Despite her determinedly blank expression, he could see the shock and grief in her eyes, and the tension in her jaw spoke of her control wearing thin. Bobby sat beside her and held her hand all through the service, but he didn't think she even realized he was there.

At the end of the wake, after the mourners had all had a chance to approach her to murmur a few words of condolence, Joanne walked out of the building without a word. He saw her pulling out her cigarettes as she went. He followed her. As the crowd started to filter out of the building and into their cars, he heard a couple ugly whisperings about her lack of tears, and it took all his self-control not to turn and yell at the people. Were they really so blind that they couldn't _see_ how she was falling apart?

He found her standing at her husband's grave, smoking. She was facing her back to him and didn't seem to hear him approaching. He was about to call out to her, to ask her if she was okay, when she spoke.

"You promised me, Larry. You said that you would never leave me. That you'd never hurt me." The lack of emotion, the _emptiness_ in her voice was almost frightening. Bobby was paralyzed, not sure whether he should let her know he was there before she said any more or whether he should sneak away and pretend he hadn't heard anything. She took a long drag on her cigarette and sighed.

"Why does it have to be this way?" Her voice was suddenly full of pain and exhaustion.

At that moment, Bobby felt his heart breaking for her. He watched as she pulled something, he couldn't see what, from her purse and placed it on the grave. He had just made up his mind to sneak away and give her some privacy when she turned and spotted him. He started.

"Robby." The surprise was clear on her face, but she covered it quickly, her expression becoming neutral again.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" he stuttered, but she waved away his apology.

"Forget it, kiddo. It doesn't matter."

Bobby didn't know what to say, so he went to her and gathered her into his arms. She gently extricated herself and began walking towards the exit and her waiting cab.

"Joanne, are you sure you'll be okay? Do you want me to drop by later?"

She turned to face him again, trying to smile but not succeeding. "I told you already, kiddo: you should stop worrying about me."

As she started to get into her cab, he called after her. "Well, I'll drop by tomorrow after work, okay?"

She didn't stop or turn around, and her voice was blank when she spoke. "Yes. Tomorrow." She climbed into the cab, but before she shut the door, she looked back at him, her eyes filled with an emotion he couldn't identify. "Goodbye, Robby."

Before he could respond, she'd shut the door and the cab was pulling away from the curb. Bobby stood there uncertainly, and watched the cab disappear into the distance. He glanced back towards Larry's grave and spotted a small white envelope leaning against the headstone – Joanne's last message to her husband. Her final farewell to him. Bobby felt his heart aching again, and he went and stood at his friend's grave.

"Larry, I promise you…I'll take care of her."

* * *

For the rest of the day, Bobby found himself constantly worrying about Joanne. His thoughts kept travelling back to her – to the note she'd left on her husband's grave, the way she'd looked back at him. The way she'd said goodbye. The look of…_something_ in her eyes as she'd said it.

He tried to focus on his work, but those worries kept creeping back into his mind. After a couple hours, he couldn't fight it any longer. He left, not stopping to try to explain why. His boss could be mad at him later. Right now, he needed to see Joanne, needed to make sure that she was alright. He ran out into the street and flagged down a cab. He gave the driver Joanne's address. He fidgeted through the whole drive, praying that the worries gnawing at the back of his mind were unfounded. When the cab reached her townhouse, Bobby bounded out practically before it had stopped. He ran up the front steps two at a time. He was about to pound on the door frantically when he remembered that he still had the spare key. He unlocked the door and forced himself to slow down as he entered. The house was eerily silent.

"Joanne?" There was no response. He checked the bedroom. The door was open and the light was on. She wasn't in bed.

"Joanne?" he called again, louder now that he knew she wasn't just sleeping. He moved through the house slowly, feeling more and more uneasy. Where was she?

As he crossed the living room, something crunched under his feet. He looked down. There was a framed photo on the floor. It seemed to have been thrown there; the glass had been shattered. He picked it up. It was Joanne and Larry's wedding picture. Fear began to grow in the pit of his stomach. He picked up his pace, searching each room for her. He reached the kitchen and felt his blood run cold.

"_JOANNE!_"

She was lying pale and unmoving on the kitchen floor. Beside her were a broken glass and a pill bottle with its contents spilled across the floor – the painkillers from the hospital. The scent of vodka hung in the air. Bobby ran to her side. He shook her gently and called her name, he begged her to open her eyes. She didn't move, didn't respond. He pressed his fingers to the side of her neck. Her skin was cold and her pulse was weak.

He ran to the telephone and called for an ambulance, blurting out the necessary information and begging them to hurry before dropping the phone and dashing back to Joanne. As he dropped to his knees beside her, he spotted a second pill bottle, half-hidden from view under the counter. He picked it up. It was empty. He looked at the label, and his heart nearly stopped. Sleeping pills. Tears began to sting his eyes as he cradled her in his arms.

"No, Joanne. Don't do this to me. Please. You can't."

She seemed to be getting even paler. He pressed his ear to her chest, and panic washed over him. She wasn't breathing. He looked down at her helplessly, the truth of the situation finally sinking in, leaving him numb:

_Joanne is dying. Right here. Right now. Right in my arms. _

He pressed his lips to hers, trying to breathe air into her lungs, all the while praying to whatever god might be listening. He prayed that the ambulance would arrive quickly, prayed that Joanne would survive. Prayed that he wouldn't have to leave his own message of farewell at her grave.

It felt like an age before he heard the approaching sirens. The ambulance screeched to a halt outside, and he heard the paramedics enter the house. He lifted his face from hers and called out to them. He heard them rushing towards his voice. He felt for Joanne's pulse again.

Her heart stopped beating at the same moment the paramedics burst into the room.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm sorry, don't hate me, it's not over yet.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** I apologize for the wait, I was busy with family Christmas stuff and then I was laid up with the flu. To make up for it, here is the longest chapter yet!

* * *

For the second time, Bobby sat in the hospital waiting room, his face buried in his hands. He tried to concentrate on his breathing, on his scuffed shoes, on the tiled floor, on anything but the memory of the moment he'd felt Joanne's heart stop. It had taken the paramedics a minute and a half to re-start her heart. 90 seconds. 90 seconds where she was technically dead. The longest, most terrifying 90 seconds of his life.

Despite his attempts to block it out, the scene kept replaying in his mind – when he'd found Joanne, lying there, unconscious. When he'd seen the bottle of sleeping pills. When he'd realized she wasn't breathing. When her heart had stopped. _When she'd died in his arms. _As every terrifying moment played in his head, Bobby cursed his own foolishness. Why had he left her alone? He'd _known_ that she wasn't alright, no matter what she said. He _knew_ he should have stayed with her. Why didn't he? He'd promised that he'd take care of her, but then he'd left her on her own, and she'd nearly died. He'd nearly lost her. He still might lose her.

As he sat there, waiting and praying and not daring to hope, one question gnawed at his mind. What had happened? Could she have… Was it possible that she…_no_. He pushed that thought aside forcefully. He couldn't believe that. Couldn't even stand to _think_ it. Thinking back, he hadn't seen a note. She'd been drunk. It was still possible that it had been accidental.

A cynical voice emerged from the back of his mind: _You want it to have been an accident, because then at least it's not your fault. _

Bobby shook his head and pushed the thought aside. He wasn't going to assume anything. For now, all he could do was focus on how to help her. He knew one thing: he was going to be there for her when she woke. He wasn't going to make the same mistake again. And when she woke, then he would find out what had happened.

_If she wakes, _the cynical voice reminded him. _If she even survives_.

Finally, he heard someone approaching him, and he looked up. It was a nurse, the same one who'd spoken to him the last time he was there. He stood up, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Is Joanne-"

"She's been stabilized. She isn't awake yet, but you can see her now."

The nurse led Bobby to Joanne's room. His breath caught in his throat when he saw her. Despite the lack of visible injuries, she looked even frailer than she had after the accident. He moved a chair to Joanne's bedside and collapsed into it. He took her hand in his as tears began to blur his vision.

"Why, Joanne?"

Bobby stayed by her side all night, holding her hand and praying for her to wake. He needed to hear her voice, needed to know that she was alright. At some point he drifted off to sleep for an hour or two, but his dreams were haunted by the memory of Joanne dying in his arms. After that, he kept himself awake. He sat on the edge of her bed and read her chart, piecing together what information he could. He understood almost none of the medical jargon, but he did manage to put together a general overview of the situation.

She'd overdosed on a mix of sleeping pills and painkillers, combined with vodka. The amount she'd taken would have been more than enough to kill her – if he hadn't found her when he had, she would have been beyond help. He closed his eyes for a moment as he realized just how close it had been. If he'd been even a minute or two later, he would have lost his Joanne.

_Wait, since when is she 'my' Joanne?_

He shook his head, putting that thought aside before returning to her chart. A minute later he wished he hadn't. As he read, he realized that she wasn't out of danger yet. Her collapse and the subsequent CPR had re-fractured her ribs, and some of the internal injuries from the accident had been aggravated. She'd been put on a cocktail of medications to counteract the effects of the overdose and to treat the withdrawal that would follow as the drugs and alcohol cleared her system, but there was still a chance that too much damage had been done to her organs and she wouldn't be able to recover.

Bobby looked at her still form, his heart pounding against his ribs. _Please, Joanne, don't do this to me. Please be alright…_

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, tears stinging his eyes again.

_Don't die. I could never forgive myself if you died._

* * *

Joanne didn't wake that night, or the next. Bobby stayed by her side holding her hand and praying for her to be alright. Finally, around midnight on the third night, she began to stir. Bobby moved to sit on the edge of her bed, clutching her hand in his.

"Joanne? Can you hear me?"

She blinked awake slowly, and he saw her eyes focus on his face for a moment before she glanced around the room. She seemed confused. She tried to sit up, but he put his hands on her shoulders, stopping her from moving.

"Do you remember what happened, Joanne?"

She looked up at him blankly.

"Two nights ago, you overdosed on a mix of painkillers, sleeping pills, and vodka. When I found you, you weren't breathing. Your…your heart stopped." His voice was trembling at the memory, and he had to take a moment to compose himself. "You were dead for over a minute."

Joanne didn't respond; she just turned her face away from him, refusing to meet his eyes. He saw that same tension in her jaw that he'd seen during Larry's funeral, and he knew: she remembered. She knew exactly what she'd done.

He could feel several conflicting emotions filling his chest. Relief, that she was alive and awake. Anger, that she had done something so foolish, something that could have killed her. Fear, because it nearly had. And deeper down, dread, and a different, much darker fear – fear that it hadn't been just foolishness that had prompted it.

Anger was the first to surface and the easiest for him to cope with. He stood up and started to pace.

"What were you thinking, Joanne?" he yelled, "How could you do that? You nearly killed yourself!"

She didn't move, didn't respond. Wouldn't look at him. The anger drained out of him and the fear he'd been trying to suppress rose to the surface. He stopped moving and stared at her, suddenly feeling cold.

"You weren't…trying to…" He couldn't say it, couldn't give voice to the idea.

She still didn't move or respond. Still wouldn't look at him. That was all the answer he needed.

Shock washed over him, and he dropped onto the foot of her bed. He only managed to choke out one word.

"Why?"

She whirled around to face him. "_Why not?_" she yelled furiously.

He stared at her, numb with shock. Her voice was fierce and angry, but her eyes were shining with tears and filled with that same emotion that he'd seen when she'd said goodbye to him at the cemetery. He finally recognized it for what it was – despair.

"Joanne, what are you saying?"

She sat up, the glare she was giving him not able to mask the pain in her eyes. "What does it matter if I die? Do you think there's anyone left who cares? Do you think _I _care?"

Bobby couldn't believe what he was hearing. Didn't _want _to believe it. Did she really think that? Did she really _feel _that?

Joanne stared up at him accusingly, her eyes still full of pain and tears. When she spoke again her voice was low and venomous. "You should have left me there, Robby. It would have been better that way."

Her words stabbed straight through his heart. "You don't mean that, Joanne."

She laughed humorlessly. "You think so, kiddo?"

He shook his head, unable to take in what she was telling him. "Do you think Larry would have wanted this?"

He saw a flash of pain in her eyes at the mention of her husband. She fixed him with a cold stare. "Larry's _dead_, Robby. He's gone and he isn't coming back. Nothing's going to change that. It _doesn't matter _whether I live or die, Robby. Nothing matters now."

He watched her helplessly as tears began to roll down her cheeks. He didn't want to hear her say anymore, but she didn't stop. He'd finally broken through the wall she'd built around her emotions, and now all of her pain and grief and despair were flooding out. She looked up at him, her anger gradually fading away, leaving nothing but anguish and despair in her eyes.

"You should have just let me die, Robby. It would have been better that way. You should've-"

He silenced her with a fierce kiss.

He felt Joanne tense in his arms. She was shocked, he knew. He was shocked, too. The voice of logic in his head was telling him that he shouldn't be doing this, that it was wrong, that it was too soon, but he didn't care. He couldn't bear to hear her say any more, couldn't bear to let her think that no one would care if she died. In that moment, he knew he would do anything to make sure that Joanne stayed safe, that she wouldn't harm herself again. The magnitude of that feeling frightened him beyond belief.

When he finally broke the kiss, he took her face in his hands.

"Don't ever say those things again, Joanne," he said, his voice full of an intensity he hadn't known he possessed. "Don't even _think _them. And _don't ever doubt_ that I care about you."

* * *

Joanne stared up at Robby, eyes wide with shock. Maybe it was an after-effect of the overdose, or maybe she was simply shutting down after all of the trauma she'd endured in the last couple weeks, but her brain simply wasn't able to take in what was happening. She couldn't believe it. This was _Robby_. Her friend. Her drinking buddy. Sure, she'd often joked that he had a crush on her. Yes, she had always felt some attraction to him, an attraction that seemed to be mutual. And yes, she'd flirted with him, even propositioned him. But they'd never been anything more than good friends. She'd never imagined they _would_ be anything more. And yet here he was, holding her. Kissing her. Telling her that he cared about her.

Robby pressed his lips to hers again. There was such tenderness and gentleness in that kiss; she felt tears filling her eyes again. She tried turn away from him – she'd already opened her heart to him far too much – but he caught her face in his hands.

"It's alright, Joanne," he said gently as he wiped her tears away. She looked into his eyes and could see all of his caring for her. All of the feeling. All of the fear.

She wrapped her arms around him and cried into his chest. He held her close, whispering soothing words, stroking her hair, and pressing kisses to the top of her head as she wept. She wept for her husband and the years they should have spent together. She wept for Robby and all of the pain she knew she had caused him. She wept for herself, battered and broken as she was.

That night, she cried herself to sleep in Robby's arms.

* * *

After Joanne cried herself to sleep, Bobby maneuvered them so that he could lie in the bed beside her and hold her while she slept. He was worried that the movement would wake her, but it seemed that her incredible outpouring of emotion had completely exhausted her. She was sound asleep.

He held her against his chest, reflecting on what had happened over the past few hours, over everything he'd discovered. About her. About his feelings for her.

Bobby had never stopped to think about what he felt for Joanne. He would have to have been blind to _not_ be attracted to her, but she had never been anything more than his friend, and for as long as he had known her she had been Larry's wife. Their interactions had been playful, flirtatious even, but it had never occurred to him to stop and consider whether he felt something for her beyond friendship and mild attraction. But after everything that had happened, all the worry and fear had made him realize: he _did _feel something. Something that was much greater than simple friendship. He still couldn't say precisely _what_ he felt for her – much less how she felt about him – but he did know one thing: right now, she needed him. And he knew that while she needed him, he couldn't possibly leave her.

She nuzzled against his chest in her sleep, and he held her tighter.

* * *

**A/N: **This is the point in the fic where I realized that I was putting them through _everything _that is said in 'Being Alive'. I guess this fic was just kind of meant to be, huh? Anyways, thanks again for reading.


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